Ghosts of Tsavo

by Vered Ehsani

We looked amongst ourselves as the first scream rent the air into shards of piercing noise. It was quickly apparent who amongst our party had wandered off unaccompanied. Mrs. Steward slumped onto the blanket and wailed about the imminent loss of her only daughter. I leapt up, followed immediately by Mr. Timmons, who gestured to Cilla to remain where she was. I hefted my walking stick, lifted up my skirt to free my ankles and trotted into the foliage and toward the screams.

  “Miss Knight,” Dr. Cricket called out, “is it really advisable for you to be gallivanting about the forest unattended?”

  “Of course it is,” Mrs. Steward snapped. “Make haste, Bee, oh do make haste. My poor, delicate Lilly.”

  Glancing at Dr. Cricket, I answered him, “Not really. But you’re welcome to assist if you so desire.”

  He made no offer to, whether because of his own trepidation or because Mr. Timmons made it clear with his expression that he alone would accompany me. Of all the members of our party, the one person who might be of some use in responding to Lilly’s screams was, I had to admit, Mr. Timmons, so I said nothing to discourage his company.

  “Oh Mr. Timmons, I would be most obliged if you could save my dear child from certain death,” Mrs. Steward called out after us.

  “Death comes unbidden to us all,” he said as way of encouragement, while he pushed a branch out of my path. “But we shall endeavor to rescue her from it this time.”

  “Philosophical, aren’t we?” I quipped. “Jonas, what are you doing here?” I was grateful he had followed us though, for surely he knew enough about the forest to ensure we didn’t lose ourselves in it.

  Jonas scurried up to us, the branches untouched by his passing, the thick skin of his bare feet unaffected by the twigs and branches littering the ground. “Me? I prefer facing that,” he said, waving ahead of us, “than that.” He gestured back to the picnic. Mrs. Steward’s moans almost drowned out Lilly’s screams.

  “Clever chap. That’s perfectly understandable,” Mr. Timmons said as he pushed ahead. “What do you suppose is harassing our dear Lilly?”

  “It sounds to me as if it’s trying to eat her more than harass her,” I said with some exasperation.

  Lilly’s screaming cut off abruptly.

  “And it just ate her,” I added.

  Jonas smiled as if relishing the thought and then sighed. “No, sadly she is still alive, Miss Knight.”

  “I agree,” Mr. Timmons said.

  “And what makes you so certain?” I asked, more curious than irritated.

  “Because I can see her.” Mr. Timmons glanced back at me, stepped aside, and watched my reaction.

  At first, I couldn’t understand his interest in my response. As I looked around, a motion on the forest floor caught my attention. I looked down at the back of Lilly’s head.

  “Where’s the rest of her?” I demanded, imagining how Mrs. Steward would admonish me if all I brought back of her daughter was the head. The head twisted about on the ground and glared up at me.

  “Bee, I’m all here. Help me,” Lilly shrieked. A pair of arms popped out of the ground and waved around the head.

  “The girl, she’s in a snake nest,” Jonas explained with the wounded air of a man forced to deal with simpletons.

  With some trepidation, as snakes are alarmed neither by cinnamon nor by my walking stick, I joined Mr. Timmons at the edge of a small crater. Together, we stared down at Lilly, whose arms and dress were streaked with mud and bits of forest debris.

  “Lift me up,” she ordered.

  “What’s all the fuss about?” I said, for I could see no snakes or eggs in the nest. “There’s nothing eating you in there.”

  “It’s not what’s in here I’m worried about,” Lilly said. “It’s what’s not. Something big created this.”

  I was suitably impressed by her line of reasoning, as were Jonas and Mr. Timmons, who both kneeled by the edge of the large hole and prepared to assist Lilly. It turned out not to be a straightforward exercise, for one of her boots was caught amongst some tree roots.

  “The angle’s awkward,” Mr. Timmons said. “It’s best I help her from down there.” With that, he lowered himself in and manipulated her foot free of the entrapping roots. Between his pushing and Jonas’ pulling, Lilly found herself returned above ground.

  “Such gallantry,” Lilly said, her eyelashes fluttering at Mr. Timmons, who wasn’t paying her any attention, so she persevered: “I’m so terribly unnerved.”

  “As you should be,” Mr. Timmons said while pulling at something on the ground. A dry, scratching sound accompanied his movements.

  “What is…?” Lilly said before her hands fluttered to her mouth, hopefully to block out another scream.

  “Snake skin,” Mr. Timmons said as he pulled up a husk sculptured in the shape of a serpent large enough to swallow me whole.

  “Rock Python,” Jonas said, and I marveled that he didn’t remind us how he’d just told us this was a snake nest. Then again, his countenance communicated as much to anyone who cared to study it. “A giant African Rock Python. It can speak, this kind of snake.”

  “Talking snakes?” I asked, skeptical about the likelihood that a giant snake could actually have vocal cords. Then again, I knew men could turn into wolves, so was it really so unbelievable that a giant talking snake inhabited the forest?

  Jonas nodded his head with great deliberation, oblivious to my doubt. “Yes. The large snake, it uses the voice of the mother to call the children out, and then eats them up.”

  “Fascinating,” Lilly said in a faint voice, and I wondered if she might empty the contents of her stomach into the nest. Instead, she turned on a heel and hurried away.

  I gestured to Jonas to follow her. “She may otherwise lose herself,” I told him.

  “Yes, she might,” he said and didn’t look at all concerned about that possibility. Sighing again, he followed Lilly toward the picnic site.

  “Can you manage?” I asked Mr. Timmons as he began to extract himself from the hole.

  “Absolutely,” he said. “I’m touched by your concern.”

  “Don’t be,” I said, staring out into the trees. “I prefer not to be delayed by any questions regarding your whereabouts if you do get stuck in there.”

  He chuckled, glanced up, and gasped at something behind me. Before I could turn about, he grabbed at my knees and yanked my legs out from under me. I slid into the hole where he wrapped his arms around my waist and dragged me to the ground. Dry snakeskin crackled underneath.

  “Mr. Timmons,” I vented, beyond irate, “this behavior is abominable, even for you.” I took a breath to continue my tirade and paused as I saw past his shoulder to a large form looming over us.

  “Forgive the impertinence, Mrs. Knight,” he whispered, his breath tickling my ear, “but I feel it best if you don’t kick around so much or make too much commotion.”

  I ceased my struggles, and he swiveled to lie by my side, his one arm still trapped under my waist. While I was vaguely aware of his proximity, it couldn’t capture my attention fully. That privilege was reserved for the monstrosity before us.

  The discarded skin had clearly misrepresented the enormity of the golden-brown snake. The beast could quite probably swallow Mr. Timmons whole without too much trouble, assuming he didn’t have the rather long and wickedly sharp knife he was currently removing from the inside of his boot.

  “How admirably prepared of you,” I whispered.

  “Miracles never cease. A compliment from Mrs. Knight,” he said. “I shall treasure the moment.” With the knife now out of its hidden sheath, he removed his arm from behind me. “Be ready.”

  “For what?” I asked as I pressed two brass fingers on the top of the walking stick to allow the blade to slide out. “To be swallowed?”

  “If need be, yes,” he said, his eyes on the snake. “And if you’re swallowed, fear not for I shall endeavor to cut you out.”

  “My hero.”

  The snake’s head, easily as large as
my torso, swiveled back and forth over the nest, a forked tongue snapping at the air above us. Mr. Timmons and I remained immobile, our breathing as shallow and quiet as we could make it.

  “And what should I do if the beast decides that you’re a better morsel?” I whispered.

  Despite the presence of the oversized serpent hovering over us, Mr. Timmons smiled. “Then I trust you shall take the opportunity to escape to safety and leave me to find my own way out of the creature’s gullet.”

  The snake’s head rose up as it inspected the nearby trees.

  “Surely you would wish me to rescue you,” I teased.

  His eyes slid sideways toward me, and said with an intense seriousness, “No, Mrs. Knight, I wouldn’t, for that would put me in double danger: one of losing my own life, and the second of losing yours. I would never forgive myself.”

  I started to smile, but my mouth became stuck halfway along when I realized he wasn’t being sarcastic, nor was he mocking me. And I found that almost as disturbing as the snake.

  Before I could think of a suitable response, the serpent tired of sampling the air; silently, it withdrew and slithered into the underbrush, leaves and small trees rustling in its wake. How we didn’t hear its approach was beyond me. I can only blame Lilly’s whimpers and complaints that kept our attention captured. That and the fact the snake hadn’t been talking to itself.

  When we were reasonably confident the beast had left the vicinity, we stood and Mr. Timmons offered me his clasped hands as a step up to the surface. We didn’t linger but retreated hastily to the picnic site.

  “What took you so long?” Mrs. Steward asked in a provoking tone as we entered the clearing. Not bothering to wait for our response, she continued, “My dear Lilly has suffered such an ordeal as will take a toll on her delicate constitution.”

  “Yes, we can all see she’s suffering greatly,” Mr. Timmons said in an unsympathetic tone. “Perhaps next time, she won’t go gallivanting,” — and he glanced at Dr. Cricket — “off into the forest alone.”

  “Mr. Timmons,” Mrs. Steward said, not bothering to disguise her displeasure at his indifference. “We’re both in a pitiable state, Lilly and I. I insist we retire from this place at once.”

  To herself, she muttered, louder than she may have intended, “Such a rude, vulgar, and gruff creature as ever there was. How can anyone be so unmoved by my poor daughter’s trauma?”

  Mr. Timmons and I exchanged a look, and in that visual contact, we agreed to say nothing of our own ordeal, so as to avoid a panic, but instead to follow the party out to relative safety.

  After surviving the stroll in the woods, which left us in more of a stupor than the tea had, we retreated to Dr. Cricket’s house where, in short order, a marvelous set of refreshments was spread out on a wobbly wooden table set in a patchy-looking garden. Even though we had only been walking for an hour or so, I was famished, so I eyed the treacle as a vulture does a zebra carcass. It seemed like an age since I’d had some (treacle that is, not carcass).

  Lilly and Mrs. Steward had collapsed on chairs and were daintily sipping tea while Dr. Cricket offered them juice. Cilla was encouraging them to eat, but they both refused. I couldn’t imagine being so restrained with such a feast before me and gladly received a plate from Dr. Cricket.

  Encouraged by my hunger, I quickly loaded my plate with a scone, two creampuffs, a slice of chocolate cake, and a couple of biscuits.

  Dr. Cricket eyed my plate with an amazed expression, while Mr. Timmons chuckled and said, “It’s refreshing to see a young lady with such healthy appetites.” His demure smile didn’t match the wicked gleam in his eyes.

  Disgusting man, I thought, although with less vehemence than usual. Our adventure in the snake nest had softened my harsh sentiments toward him. That, and I was too fatigued and hungry to muster up the energy required for indignation. I stuffed a whole creampuff into my gaping mouth before I could say anything to further exasperate the situation.

  No sooner had the creampuff settled on my taste buds, then I wanted to retch. The pastry was stale and there was something in it that should never have been there in the first place. What it was I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t care to dwell on the possibilities. Yet I didn’t dare spit the offensive pastry out. My eyes began to water as my bulging cheeks paled from my dilemma.

  Mr. Timmons caught my eye. He discretely handed me a handkerchief and stood up to grasp Dr. Cricket by the shoulder. He steered him to the side, so that neither man was looking at me, and asked him what he’d recommend.

  “The creampuffs look delightful,” Dr. Cricket exclaimed. “It’s the first time my cook is trying them.”

  “You don’t say?” Mr. Timmons said while selecting a sandwich instead.

  I spat the mushy goop into the handkerchief. I should’ve been grateful to Mr. Timmons for so adroitly rescuing me from an unfortunate choice between choking on an inedible substance or spitting food out in public, but instead I was perturbed. For now, I felt myself in debt to a man with dangerous paranormal qualities and a fondness for simultaneously vexing me while gallantly and repeatedly coming to my aid.

  Chapter 20